So I had a massive crush on a bartender at my local for weeks possibly months. He was something out of a bad 50’s movie about bad boys, diners and doing the twist to a jukebox playing music on the beach. He was tall, with a ducktailed hair style, a moustache that would make insecure men sob into their pillow at night and a body covered in tattoos. Neck to knuckles and beyond were covered in technicolour, tongue-in-cheek delights. The first moment I saw him I was smitten, no beyond smitten, I was lust filled. As soon as he would fall into my view my conversation would stop and all I could do was fight a primal urge to drag this man back to my bed by my teeth. The only thought I had was biting the collar of his shirt and dragging him like a dog would drag a bone that is triple it’s size. Standing close to him meant that I would stop breathing, watching him pour a beer literally made my legs weak. Taking all this in consideration it became very hard to order a drink without him thinking I was a person with special needs.
Things changed when a best friend for Sydney came to visit 4 days before NYE. Maybe it was the excitement of seeing an old partner in crime, maybe I was high on holidays, but I became determined to talk to the man. The only way I could think of doing so was to order drink after drink and attempt to make small talk. Some of my slurred pearls of wisdom were as follows “who is playing the music tonight? it’s awesome” *double thumbs up* “is this Mariachi El Bronx? I love them” *double thumbs up* “oh you are from Noosa? I have spent many a holiday there.” (lies, the closest I have ever been is Brisbane).
The bar was closed but I still wanted to drink. I decided to see if I could sneak in another round for my friends and I. I swagger up to the bar and smile a cheeky smile. I wave him over to him and say in a sneaky whisper “what’s the chance of getting some more alcohol?”
He replies “what do you want?”
“4 vodka and cranberries”
“no I can’t do that”
“1 vodka and cranberry”
“yeah, give me 5 minutes”
I swagger back to my friends and soon look over to see that he is giving me a little look to meet him on the other side of the bar. I duck around and try to pay but all he wants is a kiss on the cheek. For those astute readers you may have realised that this man is from Noosa which means that he is an Australian and an australian never wants just a kiss on the cheek. Maybe it was because I had be away for so long that I forgot this mating ritual, but when I lent in for a peck he turn his head and kissed me. I lost my cool and proceeded to wrap myself around him like a starved boa-constrictor. In the moment he came up for air he said “i’ve had my eye on you all night, can I take you out on a date?” my heart skipped a beat, not only was this man one of the sexiest entities alive but he was a gentleman too. I put it down to his age, a ripe old 36. Numbers were exchanged and I decided in my infinite wisdom to bring the party back to my place, we kissed a lot and danced but he didn’t try anything on, completely respecting me when I said no. This of course just turned me on even more.
Flash forward to New Years Eve. I’m dressed up in my finest 50’s pinup styles and still high from the previous antics. In the past 4 days there were sneaky smiles, flirty tickles and a sexy SMS. I had invited him to my house party when he finished work. I got a message from him at 2 am saying that he was closing up the bar and heading over. At 5am he stumbles to my apartment. I proceed to drunkenly drag him to my room. Things start to get hot and heavy and then we realise that he doesn’t have a condom which meant no sex. We end up passing out in a lustful haze and I looked forward to the morning.
7 hours later we get woken up by a message on his phone. It’s a voicemail, he checks it and starts laughing. I tiredly say “who is it”
“oh it’s a girl who I was sleeping with a little while ago. Found out last night she had my abortion, it’s my 8th abortion. She looked stunning last night, for someone who had an abortion last week.”
The phone then rings and he answers whilst still naked in bed with me.
“hey babe….. no I’m not doing anything…. yeah let’s meet up…. come to mine…. Ok see you soon”
He jumps out of bed and starts throwing his clothes on, all I can think is thank fuck I did not sleep with him and more importantly WHO THE FUCK TELLS A GIRL THAT HE HAS 8 ABORTIONS??!!???!?!!!! He then looks at me and says sheepishly “oh, I just realised what a strange situation this is, me leaving you to see another woman.”
Any normal person would use this time to let loose but not me. I use this chance to try and play it cool. I reply with the lamest thing I could possibly answer with “yeah well I guess everyone has a past, it would be delusional to think otherwise”. Yeah that’s right, I’m so cool, I’m so awesome, I’m so seething with anger. I walk him out and close the door behind me. I stand and stare at the door for a good 5 minutes. Concentrating on my breathing. I walk into the loungeroom and begin to violently shake, my friend from Sydney and the guy who she hooked up with are lying one my floor expecting a sweet smile and a giggle. They received a barrage of expletive at the top of my voice as I proceeded to start cleaning the apartment and obsessively sort recyclables. Every attempt to calm me word cause a burst of incoherent statements. The guy ran and cowered in my kitchen and washed up while I threw knives at him in the sink and screams things like “IF YOU PLAN TO SLEEP WITH A WOMAN THEN CUT YOUR NAILS. I THINK HE CUT MY LABIA, IT BLEEDING. WHO SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT.”
I mop the house and sob sing to Sarah Blasko. Once the house is clean I go out for a cigarette and turn to my friend.
“you know what the worst thing about it was? Her name. Her name was Royale. Yep like Pulp Fiction ‘Royale with Cheese’. He left me for a quarter pounder without cheese”.